Time's Tick-tock

No rustle, no ripple, the smooth hour slips

Without sigh or stipple from sleek fingertips

Silver-silk shimmer of ruthless regale

Grace-gilded glimmer from time’s tick-tock grail

See how the sun slants to slip thinly through

The line where the fine-fairest day drinks death’s dew

Murmur then sadly but futile the dirge

As moments drip gladly to Time’s tick-tock surge

Our first sweet sorrow began with the hurt

Of tender tomorrows returning to dirt

But still we press past its fleeting farewell

Famished for love-song’s from time’s tick-tock knell

No holy thought can dissuade, snuff or snare

This ether draught poured from fountains of air

There is no refund and none can retrace

One silver-soft shimmer of Time’s tick-tock grace

No rustle, no ripple, the smooth hours flow

Silent and subtle where white lilies blow

Never a footfall and never a print

Left in the fallow of time’s tick-tock sprint

© Janet Martin